


Leaving California

by burlesonspride



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, quinntana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesonspride/pseuds/burlesonspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Quinn Fabray prepares to leave her girlfriend of 4 years behind, Santana Lopez finds herself asking the question: What happens when you're faced with the reality that simply loving someone is no longer enough?</p>
<p>AU Quinntana</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving California

That was the biggest waste of my time. I can’t believe I crawled out of bed at five-fucking-o’clock this morning just to wait in a line for 6 hours. I should have known when I saw the rest of the girls waiting that this was just going to be some _tell me your name-take your shirt off_ audition. I guess I figured that sleazebag directors only held cattle calls at night.

I lean back against the wall; the hum of the elevator turns sinister in sound and my hands grip the worn rail tightly, “Are they ever going to fix this piece of shit?” I grumble.

When the box groans to a stop with a jolt, I pull open the gate and step out, ignoring the six inch gap between the lift and the floor. Keys jingle in my hand when I pull them from my pocket. All I can think about is dropping everything on the floor and curling up next to Quinn on the couch.

Sundays are usually the only days we have to spend time together anymore. She’s been pulling long hours at the publishing firm and at night, I’m bartending to make up for the cut in hours at the coffee house. Add my random auditions into the mix and I can’t honestly remember the last time we spent more than a few hours together just because we can.

I went ahead and booked this audition today out of spite. It wasn’t my best moment, I’ll admit, but I was upset last night. So when my email popped up with the audition information, I responded.

Quinn and I were supposed to go out last night; well, had plans gone my way anyway. It was my first Saturday night off at the bar in months. She knew I was off but I didn’t say anything else because wanted to surprise her with dinner and a movie. When I left the coffee house yesterday at five, I called her but she didn’t pick up. I left a message asking her when she planned on coming home, and then I made my way home to shower and get ready. But when I stepped out of the shower, I had a text from her telling me she was out with Noah and Danielle and she wasn’t sure when she’d be home and not to wait up.

I couldn’t really blame her. I didn’t tell her I had made plans for us. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t a little hurt, a little mad. She did know that I was off last night. Why would she make plans with friends knowing that a night alone between us was rare? It didn’t help matters that that Noah guy happened to be her boy-toy back in high school. Apparently after we moved out to Los Angeles, they reconnected over facebook. Turns out Noah joined the military and ended up here after his last tour. Quinn is always telling me that Noah and Danielle are together, they’re just friends and that those feelings died a long time ago. But at the same time, she constantly tells me how nice it is to have a piece of her home out here in LA. Says it keeps her from going insane. I’ve never told her, but each time she says that, I feel like a failure. I’m supposed to make her feel safe, comfortable and sane.

I don’t understand, when I look at Quinn, I know I’m home. Sure, I miss my family, but never do I feel the need to seek something out to keep me sane. I found my sanity in being with Quinn. Why can’t I be that for her?      

As I walk down the hall, I notice a bundle of boxes lying against the wall outside our door. I shake it off as odd, maybe a neighbors. I slide the key in the door and push my way in.

“Quinn…” I yell into the quiet space, “Babe? Do you know why there’s a bundle of─”

I stop dead in my tracks when I round the corner into the loft we’ve shared for close to two years.

The long island in our kitchen ─normally containing a vase with fresh flowers and a few small framed photos of us─ is covered in open boxes, bubble wrap, scissors and packing tape.

My eyes scan the large space and I note that there are several things wrong here. Along the side wall, photos are missing in random spots; blank spaces are all that remain. My heart begins to pound in my chest as my eyes dart to the next empty spot. The woven blanket, the one Quinn and I bought together from a vendor in Venice Beach our second week here, is no longer draped across the back of the couch. The shelves that hold our collection of books and movies sits half empty. I turn and notice only one of the mismatched lamps that sit on either side of the couch is wrapped. It’s the elegant one, the custom blown glass that sits tightly wound in bubble wrap and marked with a very clear “Q” in black sharpie. My natural lamp, pieces of driftwood covered by a lampshade of teal, loses all its charm when its chic partner is no longer there to balance the feel.

With every void I see, my breath becomes shorter and my chest tightens so much I feel like I’m choking. This can’t be real. I need to wake up. I need to walk back through the door. I need to do something. I can’t accept the things that are missing; the things that are packed are all Quinn’s. I won’t accept it.     

Time slows and I can’t make heads or tails of anything. I walk, lost amongst my own things, and reach the boxes that line the island.

**Clothes**

**Kitchen**

**Photos**

**Books**

Each word is written so cleanly, with such finality.

I look in the box labeled **Kitchen** , reach in and pull out a small, coral color mug. My fingers fit right back in the small grooves….

_“Wow! This looks so good! How long did it─”_

_“Santana, wait! It’s…”_

_Quinn falls quiet, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Her eyes still shine and I know she’s about to erupt into laughter. She shakes her head, her cheeks giving away the hidden smile, “… not done setting.”_

_I just look down dumbly at the clay mug in my hand. It’s solid enough to keep its shape, but still pliable enough that my fingertips press into the clay. I set it back down gently and when I release it, I see the very distinct finger impressions I’ve left behind. I feel terrible._

_Quinn’s been taking pottery classes down in Huntington Beach whenever she has the free time. She’s good; really good. Last month I cleaned out the corner by the windows that lead to the balcony and put in some tables, a work chair and spent my entire check on buying her supplies, tools and paints. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Ever since then, she’s been creating little things here and there as a way to wind down from her days at the office._

_I step back from the mug slowly, “I am so sorry, Q.”_

_She makes her way over and stands beside me with her hands on her hips, looking down at the mug. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, feeling awful about ruining her latest creation. Her head tilts to the side and then she steps up and leans forward to inspect the cup. She reaches out and turns the wooden block it sits on. She eyes the cup closely and finally stands back up._

_“Actually,” she says, “you’ve made it perfect.”_

_My brows bunch when I look back down at the five prints the mar the cup, “But I just…”_

_“One of my favorite things in the entire world,” she starts as she reaches out, takes my hand in hers and traces my fingers with her own, “is the feel of your fingertips under mine.”_

_I look at her, still a bit perplexed by her actions and she simply smiles back at me._

_“Now I’ll always be able to feel your fingertips; even when you’re not around.”_

_She leans in, planting a soft kiss as I mumble, “I’ll always be around.”_

_“Mmm, you better be.”_

_She wraps her arms around my neck and glances back at the mug, “You know…” she says, “That has to finish setting before I can paint it, which means…”_

_Her eyebrow lifts and a suggestive smiles dances across her lips._

My gaze drops to the hardwood floor in the corner of the room, still flanked by work tables covered in dried clay and paint. Flashes of how we passed that time flood my emotionally charged mind, and I bring the mug closer to my chest. A deep breath and I reluctantly place the mug back in the box; taking care to lay it on the layer of crumpled newspaper.

My hand knocks the box to the right and it rocks a little. I glance inside and notice that it’s empty. Stepping over, I lift the flap and my breath catches.

**Bedroom**

I swallow back the sob that I’ve been keeping locked away. It’s logical there is a bedroom box. But something about seeing this particular box lined up with the others, even in its empty state, has me reminding myself to breathe.

I turn, unable to face the boxes anymore. My chest hurts while I fight to breathe deeply. My eyes sting and the tears I’ve been holding on to cascade down my cheeks when my eyes close tightly.

_This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening._

I stand there, too scared to move further into the loft for fear of what I’ll find missing. My hands cover my face, unable to stifle the broken sobs that are raking my body. The pounding in my ears drowns out everything; almost everything.

 I throw my hands down to muster the strength to calm myself and that’s when I hear it; a small thud coming from the back of the loft. It filters through the glass French doors that lead to our bedroom. For a moment, I fall completely silent, straining to hear more. Another sound comes, louder. A thump followed by sniffle.

My throat constricts and I feel like I’m choking again. I swallow, attempting to allow some air to fill my chest, but find it’s almost impossible. I close my eyes tightly and force myself to breathe through my nose to calm my nerves. I wipe furiously at my face, sniffling and ridding myself of the tears that stain my cheeks.

When I look toward the back of the loft, it’s like looking down a tunnel. With each step I take, it only seems to get further away. My tears have stopped and I hear nothing. Not my breathing, my footsteps, not even the creak that is always prominent in the floorboards. All I can focus on are the white doors with individually painted glass panes.

The closer I get, I can see through some of the clear panes. The mid-day sun streams down across the bed. The beams spotlighting the neatly folded piles of clothing that erase any sign of where we sleep. I reach for the door and push lightly. My body shudders when I see more boxes. This time, they are full. Some blankets, others with clothes. One sits outside our bathroom, a lone pink and white tooth brush sticking out of the open box.

I comb the room, my eyes dropping on every object to see if it’s still there. I scan the walls, the floor, the dresser, and the nightstands. Every missing or displaced item makes my heart beat faster and slower. Is this what it feels like to die? This battle your body wages against itself? Where you’re unable to breathe but also unable to find a reason to?

I continue to face the room that seems to darken with every passing second. When my eyes reach the closet, I’m not met with empty hangers. At least not all empty. But instead I come face to face with the hazel eyed blonde seated against the inner wall. Shoes are strewn all around her along with small piles of clothing. Her head rests back against the drywall; her eyes are swollen and red. The messy bun that sits atop her head is so frayed it looks like she slept on it. She doesn’t blink when she sees me. She just stares up at me quietly. 

“Q…”

It’s no louder than a whisper. I spread my arms out, gesturing at the situation around us.

“Why” I choke out.

The tears begin to roll again, falling faster than before. There are no sobs this time. I watch her though a curtain of blur. Her eyes roll off to the side and her head lists. She bites down on her bottom lip and tears begin to fall from her eyes at a pace much slower than mine. Her knees are tented and her arms rest there. In her hands she wrings a scarf, wrapping it around her fists.

“Do you remember when I bought you this?”

I watch her, her eyes pulling back to mine, “Of course.”

She laughs lightly, a hint of emptiness rings, “You were the only person in New York City who thought a tiny jacket would keep you warm on New Year’s Eve.”

“In my defense, it was seventy-four degrees that day” I say with a roll of my eyes.

The quiet settles back over us, neither moving. I watch her; she watches the scarf while the material slides between her fingers.

After a few moments she speaks up, “That’s the night I fell in love with you. Did I ever tell you that?”

I shake my head and speak softly, “No.”

A lopsided smile breaks across only part of her lips. Just tugging at the corner of her mouth but never growing further.

“I did. You wouldn’t stop complaining about how cold you were. And even though it was pissing me off, you were so cute. Part of me wanted to let you freeze just to prove a point. You don’t listen. But I couldn’t do that to you. Your lips started to turn purple. So I left you, standing in the middle of Times Square with a million strangers, two hours before the ball dropped.”

She pauses and I step in, “I could have been kidnapped.”

It’s my pathetic attempt to break the tension that has filled the room and is silently drowning us both.

“With all your complaining, it was a risk I was willing to take.”

This time, I swear I can see a little life come back onto her eyes. Her lips tug tighter and even a small laugh accompanied the remark.

“You see, when I got onto the sidewalk, ya know, back to where the Nivea guy was handing out sweaters and hats and shit, he wasn’t there anymore. And all I could think was, ‘I just walked through a sea of people, for ten minutes, to buy a scarf for my best friend who was dumb enough to come out in a mini dress and a jean jacket.’ I was beyond pissed off at that point.”

She stops and looks pointedly at me. I don’t know if she’s waiting for something; an apology maybe, for an incident four years ago. I don’t know. I muster enough strength and simply shrug my shoulders. What else can I do?

“So I’m starting to walk away, and from the corner of my eye, I see a different guy standing against the wall under the Forever 21 sign with a cardboard box that said _Scarves and Hats $25_. For a second, I thought about proving that point again. But I was there, he was there and I had $42 on me. When I got back through the crowd to the gate, I freaked out because I couldn’t find you. But then I saw you, six people down with your face buried in the collar of your jacket. You looked so unlike yourself; so _innocent_.”

Her voice trails and she glances back down at the scarf. I take this opportunity to step forward. When she doesn’t look up, I take another, and another. I approach her as if she’d get spooked and run; slowly, cautiously. When I’m standing about three feet from her, I move at a snail’s pace, lowering myself to the floor. The sound of my heel scraping the floor as I settle on my knees brings her back to me. She doesn’t startle, she just watches me. I can see her eyes squint, like she’s studying me.

“When I saw you there, nose buried in your jacket, shivering… All I wanted to do was hold you. I wanted to wrap my arms around you and make sure that you never felt cold again.”

I watch as new tears fall from her eyes and all I want to do is just what she said. I want to hold her.

“I knew then that I loved you. That I wanted to be the only person to keep you warm.”

She begins to move and my heart drums in my chest. She’s up on her knees, crawling her way to me. When she stops just shy of me, she unfurls the scarf and gently drapes it around my shoulders.

“So I walked right up to you, pulled the collar from your face, draped the scarf over you and pulled you to me.”

I smirk at her, “That kiss earned us 15 seconds of fame if I remember correctly.”

She nods and backs way, dropping on her rear and curling her legs in Indian style, “Aaaand a nice call from my mother. National television wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to introduce you to the family.”

A pregnant pause hangs between us after that. Neither really wanting to take the conversation forward, knowing the end result wasn’t going to be pretty.

After a while, I can’t stand the silence, “What’s going on Quinn? You don’t come home until three last night and then I come home to find you packing away our life together.”

There it is again, the lip bite and the diversion of eyes.

“Please…” I plead, “Talk to me.”

A tear falls and she wipes it away quickly, “I can’t do this anymore, Santana.”

“Quinn… I…”

“I’m leaving.”

Breathing ceases to exist. I feel like throwing up. There’s no air in, no air out. My ears ring, my body quakes. I know I’m crying, but I can’t make a sound. My eyes find it impossible to focus on any one thing. They dart frantically, seeking something to grab and hold onto. My world feels like its crashing down all around me. I’m dizzy, but too frozen to brace myself.

After what feels like an eternity, I’m hit with every feeling I had been numb to. My hands shake violently, my breathing is nothing but broken breaths, taken through ragged gulps of air. My eyes finally lock on Quinn and I want to speak, but can’t find the words to say.

Her head is hung and her tears fall against her legs. Now it’s her who refuses to look at me. She runs her palms over her pants repeatedly.

“I can’t stay here anymore. I need to get out of California. I need to go home. I don’t have anything here.”

I cry out to her, “I’m here. I’ll always be here. Remember?”

Her head rolls up and she scoffs, “But you’re never here anymore. I barely see you.”

My arms gesture back and forth between us, “I’m working. You’re working.”

A humorless laugh billows out into the space between, “Where did we go, Santana? You and me? Us? When did we just become roommates?”

I breathe deeply, regaining some composure, “Quinn…” I’ve got nothing. I don’t know how to answer her.

“I followed you out here because I loved you. And your dream is here. But I feel like I’m dying out here.”

I don’t miss the past tense use of love in her statement. It certainly doesn’t miss its mark when I feel it slice through me.     

I nod, almost angrily at her, “Loved?”

She sighs heavily, “Love. I will always love you, Santana. But this isn’t working anymore.”

I can feel the anger building. How selfish. How fucking selfish is this?!

“Quinn, I asked you. I talked to you about moving out here for months. I wanted this to be a decision we made together; one that we both would agree on. Now you’re going to sit here and tell me that you followed me and now you’re dying?”

Her eyes narrow and I know we’ve tipped the scales.

“You knew what I had in New York! You knew that firm was looking to promote me. But you asked anyway…”

“Yes!” I yell back, “I asked the love of my life if she thought we could make a life in LA and do you remember what she said? She said that we could make a life anywhere as long as we had each other. Do you remember that? Or are you so far gone in your rich girl selfishness to remember?”

“Rich girl selfishness? Seriously, Santana?”

Quinn pushes up and steps away. I swing around and lift, yelling as I do, “Yes! You’re a privileged little girl who has had everything handed to her in life. You’ve never had to step out on a limb that mommy and daddy didn’t insure first. You run when something scares you. You’ve never even tried out here, Quinn! For fucks sake, befriending your old high school fuck buddy? Way to really get out of your comfort zone Q.”

She turns red in the face, “Noah?! Jesus Christ, Santana! There is nothing there! This has nothing to do with him! I miss the seasons, I miss the city. I miss being close to my family. I miss my home!”

“No! You’ve completely missed the point.” I quip while she walks away, “You miss being the center of attention. You miss never having to wonder where you stand with people. You miss having everything presented to you with an instruction manual and a nice big bow.”

She whirls around, finger pointing at me, hot tears streaming down her face and screams, “You came with neither!”

It’s like a slap in the face. Like I was something she took a chance on but became too much to handle. And in the end, I’m just not worth the effort.

“I have never felt so disposable…” I pause a moment, trying to regain some strength to spit more venom. I’m hurt now. “So you’re just done with me? Is that it? Because you can’t fit me into your perfect little east coast world? Because I don’t fall into the standard Fabray mold for relationships?”

“I didn’t say that” she sighs. Her hand lifts to her brow and she kneads the skin, relieving some of the tension I’m sure is there. “Santana, I have never loved someone the way I love you. So completely. I allowed myself to become so immersed in loving you that I feel like I lost part of myself along the way.”

Hearing Quinn talk about loving me just shatters any of the defenses I’ve put up and I begin to shake.

“We can fix this, Quinn. We can make this right. I won’t make it if you run away from this. I won’t be alright. I need you.”

Her shoulders slump and she deflates before me. The sharp tone and elevated volume vacates her voice.

“You’ve never needed anyone, Santana.”

I feel my veins coursing and I walk to her, cradling her face in my hands before she can protest, “I didn’t. Until you.”

She keeps her gaze on the floor, tears pooling around the copper in her eyes.

“Quinn, Please. Please don’t go.” I wait, but she never moves. “Do you remember what I told you the first time we slept together after telling each other that we loved one another? Do you?”

Her eyes lift when I say the word _love_. She chokes back a sob and bites her lip.

“You asked me if I would ever let you go. Remember?”

She nods her head gently.

“I told you─”

I’m interrupted by a soft tone that I haven’t heard since this began, “That even if the sun crashed into us, you’d never let go.”

“And I won’t. If you need to go back to New York to be happy, we’ll go back to New York. Together.”

She shakes her head, breaking the moment, “Santana, I won’t do that to you. Your dream is here.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the fact that it still seems implied that I forced her out here. I tilt her face, forcing her to look at me again, “You…” I pause, ensuring she hears me loud and clear, “You are my dream, Quinn.”

She swallows hard, features softening under my stare, “Quinn, don’t you get it? I can be anywhere in the world, and as long as I’m with you, I know I’m home.”

“I’m not like you…” she chokes.

“Quinn, have I ever asked you to be anything other than who you are?”

She shakes her head and whispers, “No.”

“I’m standing here, right now, telling you that I am ready to pack up and move back across the country to be with you; to make you happy. I’ll be happy wherever you are.”

My hands drop and I take a deep breath to steady myself. I know what I’m about to say next will be where we separate the truth from the excuse.

“But Quinn, if this really isn’t about location; if this is about you wanting to walk away from _me_ , I need to know. I will not be your mistake, Q. As much as I love you, I will not follow someone who doesn’t want me. I won’t do that for anyone.”

She stands frozen before me, eyes cast down. I watch her take a few deep breaths and then she breaks, turning from me and walking out of the room without a sound.

I follow her to the living room and stop; I’m done.

“Quinn.”

She stops, her back to me, her hands resting on the edge of the island.

“Answer me.”

She signs, “I don’t know, Santana. I just know I need to clear my head. And I can’t do that here.”

When the words settle around me, I go numb. I reach for the fabric around my shoulders and pull it off. With a simple nod of my head, I brush past her and drop the scarf at her feet. When I reach the door, I grab my keys and purse from the entry table. I pull the front door open and glance back at her, “Or with me apparently.”

The latching of the door behind me echoes through the hallway. I force myself to walk faster, trying to outrun the sound and the knowledge that I just left my heart, shattered on the floor, in that loft with Quinn.

_Don’t cry. Don’t let go. You can do this. You’ll be okay._

I chant this over and over as I walk. I push through the heavy door leading to the stairs. With each flight, I take one step, then two, skipping more and less as I descend. I push through the exit door, and for the first time since I arrived home, I feel like I can breathe. I bend over, grabbing my knees and inhale deeply; Over and over, feeling the oxygen coursing through me. The bright sun burns my already stinging eyes, but I welcome the warmth that accompanies it. The noise of the city echoes all around me, replacing the excruciating silence that resides in that 5th floor loft.

One last deep breath and I head for my car. Once I’m in the seat, I can feel the flood coming. Instead of allowing it to swallow me whole, I grip the steering wheel and scream; a long, guttural scream, allowing me to release some of the tension that has simmering under the surface. When I’m done, my throat hurts, my voice is faded and ragged, but I’m able to breathe better. The crushing feeling in my chest is less and I lean back, taking in gulps of air and contemplating what to do next.

I reach into my purse and grab my phone. I scroll through the contacts until I reach Kurt. He and I hit it off instantly when I started at the coffee shop last year. He’s originally from a small town in Ohio, but moved out here to be closer to his father after his mother died a few years ago. He had been living with his boyfriend, Blaine until a month after we met. Turns out Blaine had been cheating on him and basically decided Kurt and he were finished. I barely knew him at the time, but I felt terrible for him. I spoke to Quinn and we offered our couch to Kurt until he could get back on his feet. We’ve been best friends ever since.

I bring the phone to my ear and wait as it rings.

“Hey Satan” he answers with a laugh.

“She’s leaving me.” It’s all I can get out before I feel the familiar restriction that causes me to go silent.

“Oh God, Santana. I’m so… where are you?”

“Home” I cry.

“I’m coming to get you.”

My head shakes, “I can’t stay here. I need to leave.”

“Santana” he pleads, “I don’t think driving would be smart right now.”

I slip my key in the ignition and start the car, “Kurt, I can drive. Just, meet me at The Wedge. Okay?”

“Alright. But Santana,” he pauses, “Please, please be careful.”

“I’ll see you there.”

I pull the phone down, end the call and toss it in the seat beside me. I shift the car into reverse and glance up at the windows to our home one more time. Before I allow the aching wave to crash, I stiffen my lips and hit the gas.

+     +     +    +    +

The sound of crashing waves surrounds me and helps to drown out the conversation that’s been on replay since I left the loft. The salty breeze carries the mist from the caps and it blows through my hair. There aren’t many people here today. A few surfers are out on the break waiting to paddle out farther. It’s quieter than I’ve ever seen it. That could be that I’m usually here in the evenings or on a Saturday. And I’m usually here with a blonde wrapped in my arms and a woven blanket that no longer sits on our couch.

The sun is dipping lower in the sky and I lift the small object that has been rolling across my finger tips for the better part of an hour. I raise it until the perfect circle matches the sphere in the sky. The light catches it just right and the engraving inside glows brightly.

_“It’s after twelve. Do you want your Christmas present now or in the morning?”_

_Quinn rolls over onto her stomach and folds her arm over my chest, resting her chin there. She makes no effort to cover her bare form with the loose white sheet that lays rumbled at the foot of our bed._

_I stretch, moaning in contentment, “I thought I just got my present.”_

_When I smile at her, she lifts her finger and lightly traces the contour of my chin._

_“You’re cute.”_

_My nails lazily drag the length of her spine as we lie together, “So you got me a Christmas present, huh Fabray?”_

_“I did” she hums._

_Her smile illuminates the night, it’s infectious. I abandon her back and reach up, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear._

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_Her finger moves and finds purchase against my lips, “So are you.”_

_I kiss the pad of her thumb and she leans up, replacing it with her lips. Her tongue swipes along the seam and I welcome her home. We move at a languid pace. Hands roaming over curves we’ve come to know so well. Soft moans hold a conversation all their own. Her leg crosses over my hips and she’s on top of me. Her body rocks with mine, our lips never parting. My hands drag from her shoulders, down her back and grip her ass, rocking her faster, harder, coaxing her along._

_She laughs, breaking the kiss and pushing up on her hands, “Uh-uh, I want to give you your present now.”_

_I sigh, feigning frustration, “It’s hard when your present is already unwrapped but you’re told you can’t play with it.”_

_She climbs off me and rips the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around herself, “You played with me all night. Come on, get up.”_

_She walks out of the room and down the hallway. I’d swear she was skipping. I just shake my head, grab a long t-shirt from the dresser, slip it on and follow._

_I shiver when I reach the living room, “Fuck it’s cold out here.”_

_“Yeah” she replies, bent over and digging under the poor excuse we have for our first Christmas tree, “The heater is on the fritz again. Just hit it with something. It’ll kick on.”_

_I look around for something and reach down, picking up one of her running shoes, “Q, you really need to find a better place. Your super is a piece of shit.” I fling the shoe against the heater and it clanks to life. I cough as the rush of hot air fills my lungs. “Nice.”_

_She rocks back on her legs and laughs, “Hey. It’s a rule that all first apartments in NYC are supposed to be super shitty. It’s how you cut your teeth or something.”_

_I roll my eyes and round the couch before dropping down and pulling my shirt over my legs, “You’ve been here three years. I think your teeth are cut.”_

_She walks over to me, holding a small box in her left hand, “Shut up, Santana. You couldn’t wait to move in.”_

_I reach out and grab her waist. I pull her down quickly, until she’s perched across my lap, giggling, “I’m here for the woman that lives here, not the apartment.”_

_She kisses me quickly, “Okay…” holding out the small box, wrapped in shiny red paper and a small silver bow, “Merry Christmas.”_

_I take the package and glance once more at her before ripping into like a child. When the paper falls, a small white velvet box is left in my palm. My eyes lift to hers and she watches me silently. I swallow once more and lift the rounded lid._

_Nestled inside the box is a platinum band, plain in design, with a small diamond set into the band. It would be masculine if not for its petite size._

_I grasp the tiny band between my fingers and lift it gently, “Quinn...”_

_She crawls off my lap and gets on her knees beside me, between the couch and the coffee table. She stops when she realizes the position she’s in and laughs, “Okay, this isn’t what it looks like. Not to say it won’t happen differently later in our lives, but… anyway…”_

_My eyebrows raise and I nod at the ring, and then at her position._

_“Santana,” she pauses, reaching out and taking the ring from me, “This is a promise. I promise that I will love you unlike you’ve ever been loved before. I promise that no matter what happens in our lives, you have me. You have me like no one ever has.” She tilts the ring so the glow from the Christmas tree reflects off the metal. “Look.”_

_I lean closer and notice the engraving inside the ring; four words._

_She reads them as she slowly spins the band, “You have my **mind**. You have my **body**. You have my **heart**. And you have my **soul**.”_

_By this time, I can feel a tear trace down my cheek. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and then reaches out. Her palm molds against mine and she slips the ring on my finger, “I love you, Santana.”_

“Please don’t tell me I’ve walked into some dramatic scene where you sit alone until you stand, scream and throw the ring into the Pacific then drop to the sand in a crumpled mess of tears and streaked mascara. Because that’s usually followed by a scene where said ring thrower runs frantically out into the ocean in search of a ring never to be seen again.”

I smile and for the first time today, I feel a brief ping of genuine happiness. I glance over my shoulder and watch as Kurt wades thorough the sand, his pants cuffed and carrying his loafers in his hands.

“It amazes me that you still haven’t hit it big with the million-dollar screenplays you write in that head of yours.”

He drops down beside me in the sand and dusts off his pants, “Hollywood will never appreciate my brilliant clichés.”

I lean over and bump his shoulder with mine, “Ah, a man before his time.”

He wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses my head as I lay it against his shoulder. This small bit of human contact is apparently all I need to finally let go. My face buries against his neck and the flood gates break free. I let go of every tear, every sob. When I cry out, “why”, he doesn’t answer. He knows I don’t need him to. He knows I just need him to be there, to listen and to hold me while I fall apart.

I’m really not sure how long I cry. He never urges me to move or stop. He just plants kisses in my hair, rubs my arms and tells me in a soft tone that everything will be okay. When I finally regain control of my breathing, when my eyes have finally run dry and I feel utterly exhausted, the sun sits just over the horizon and the sky is coming to life with reds, oranges and pinks. I watch the sky while I tell him everything that happened.

After hearing what lead to my crying on his shoulder at the beach, he takes a deep breath and exhales. We sit quietly together. I glance around, taking in the area once more. Most of the people who were here when I arrived have gone home. There are a few that stayed behind. Some are gathering driftwood for a fire pit. Others are enjoying the sunset.

Kurt startles me when he finally speaks again, “Can I see it?”

I look up at him and he eyes the ring I’ve linked over my pinky. He holds out his palm and I drop it there. He rolls it around in his fingers, studying the four words inside the band, “So who gave who a ring first?”

“Quinn” I answer simply.

“Hmm” he hums. “I didn’t pick her as the type to do something like that first.”

I chuckle against him, “Me either; shocked the hell outta me. She gave it to me our first Christmas living together. Three years ago.”

He nods, “So, I know she wears a ring. When did you give it to her?”

The breeze is turning a little chilly, so I nuzzle further against him, “A few months later; her Birthday.”

“Does hers have anything engraved?”

“My Everything.”

He closes his palm around the ring and looks down at me, “That’s what it says? My Everything?”

I nod and begin to cry softly, “She’s my everything, Kurt. What am I going to do?”

We spend the rest of the time in silence. I let the newest waves of tears break free while he holds me. The sun sets and with its departure, the cool winds turn cold and the ocean mist dampens our clothing. Soon, the only light on the small strip of beach is two fire pits set ablaze a way down from us and the glow of the street lights that line Pacific Coast Highway.

Kurt unwinds himself from me, “We should get going. You need to rest.”

I begin to feel sick at the thought of going home. Of having to face Quinn and more boxes or worse, an empty loft.

“Kurt, Can I…”

“Honey, you’re sleeping at my place. We’ll figure out a game plan in the morning.”

He reaches out a hand and pulls me from the sand. I slip the ring back on my finger and grab my shoes from the sand before wrapping an arm around Kurt and walking back to the parking lot.

Kurt leans over the hood of his car watching me, “You have a key, let yourself in. Wine is in the fridge. I need to stop by the bank and play ‘guess the card’. Do you want me to pick anything up on my way home? Ice Cream? Chocolate? Bridget Jones Diary?”

I smile at him and think, “Hmmm; how about chips and salsa, some moon-pies and Romy and Michelle?”

He settles in his Jetta and unrolls the window, “I can do that. Be safe. Text me when you get to the apartment.”

I drop down in my seat and reach over for my phone, taking a breath before looking to see if I have any messages. I don’t really know if I’m hurt or relieved to find there are none from Quinn. There are a few from Stacy, a girl who works at the bar with me. She wanted to know if I’d take her shift tonight. After several texts over the course of a couple hours, I figure if she hasn’t gotten the point that I’m not coming in yet, that’s her problem.

I drive in silence all the way to Kurt’s place in Fullerton. Thoughts just come and go. Every once in a while I would hear Quinn’s echo, _“….I have never loved someone the way I love you. So completely_.” How can she say she loves me? How can you love someone and have the ability to just walk away? I know that we’ve had our issues lately. But I would have never imagined coming home to what I did today. How long has she been thinking about this?

After I get to Kurt’s apartment, my eyes are blurry and I feel like I could just crumple to the floor and sleep for days. I drag my feet until I fall over the edge of the couch and land face first into a feather throw pillow. I lay there, still as death, praying that I can find a way to shut my mind off and just forget the last 24 hours ever happened.

After a half hour or so I give up on finding that magical off switch and make my way into Kurt’s bathroom. I decide to clean my contacts but find that he’s completely out of solution. Frustration begins to build and instead of bursting, I just stand in front of the bathroom mirror, hands gripping the sink and watching myself cry for the thousandth time today.

I hear a shout from the front of the apartment, “Santana?”

I wipe my eyes, suddenly embarrassed to cry, and call back “Be right out.”

Walking down the hallway, I see Kurt in the kitchen with a few paper bags lining the counter, “Hey.”

“Hey” he responds while digging in one of the bags, “Okay, so they were out of moon-pies, but I remembered you like frozen ding-dongs, so I picked up some of those. Figured we’d throw ‘em in the freezer and they’ll be ready to eat in a little while.”

He holds the box up, like he’s displaying a prize on some game show, “Thank you, Kurt.”   

My hands lift and I press my palms into my eyes, trying and failing not to rub them.

“Go take your contacts out, Santana. You’ve always got your glasses with you.”

I huff, blinking away the scratching feeling, “I wish I could. But I took them out of my purse when I left the loft at five this morning. And you’re apparently out of contact solution, so I’m screwed.”

“No one’s ever screwed in my apartment,” he mumbles as he reaches in another bag, “Well, you know what I mean.” He pulls out a fresh bottle of solution and holds it out to me. “It was on the list” he finishes with a shrug.

“Santana” he calls as I walk away, “Grab a pair of my gym shorts and a t-shirt out of the top drawer. Towels are in the closet. Take a shower, clean your contacts. When you get out I’ll run your clothes down to the washer and we’ll start the movie. Deal?”

I smile at him and nod.

When I step under the hot water, I let the steam billow around me. I’m so tired. I lean against the wall and let my eyes drop closed. I feel like I need to cry, but there is nothing there. My body can’t physically express anymore. It just aches, all over. My legs begin to shake, so I lower myself carefully and I sit in the tub, letting the water shower down on me like rain. Maybe if I sit here long enough, it’ll wash all of this down the drain. In these moments, I can’t even muster an image of Quinn. Everything is just blank. When my eyes close, I seek out comfort in her smile. But there’s nothing there but blackness. I take a little solace in the thought that perhaps this is my mind trying to use that off switch I was hunting for earlier.

The quiet is replaced by a banging on the door followed by Kurt shouting, “Santana… are you alright?”

My head lifts and it’s then I feel the water that was hot when I stepped in has grown cool. I try and holler back, but only a squeak comes out. I clear my throat and try again, “Yeah. Sorry. Be out in a few minutes.”

I move to stand and feel like all of my muscles have abandoned me. It takes me two attempts to get back on my feet. I run some shampoo through my hair and wash my body. When I turn the water off, I step out carefully and dry off. A few minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom wearing a loose fitting pair of Kurt’s jogging shorts and an old t-shirt from his high school back home.

Kurt looks up from the couch, “Hey, everything okay? I almost came in there.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I guess I, fell asleep?” Bowing my head I laugh, “Sorry if I scared you.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay” he says getting up, “Come on. We’re going to watch this in the bedroom. That way when you fall asleep, you can have the bed.”

I help him grab the chips and dip while he grabs the bottle of wine and the movie. We make our way to his bedroom and the plush queen size bed that he tosses the DVD on.

He sets the wine on the dresser and turns, grabbing a laundry basket, “I’m going to take the clothes down to the wash. You’re stuff’s still in the bathroom, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

When Kurt returns, I’ve queued the movie, poured the wine and already made my way to the freezer for a ding-dong. He changes into his pajamas and climbs into bed beside me. It’s not long into the movie before he speaks again.

“Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.”

I reach down and scoop a chip through the salsa and pop it in my mouth, “I wish I could believe that. When Q sets her mind to something, you just get out of the way.”

“You know Quinn better than anyone. But even I know Quinn Fabray can weave logic in circles around anyone until it involves her own personal life. Then she’s the quickest person to pull the trigger without any thought.”

I laugh, my head bouncing lightly on his shoulder, “Gotta love that Fabray gene. The smartest people you’ll ever meet until it involves them directly.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe you’ll both see things differently in the morning.”

I want to agree with him. I want to believe that when the sun rises Quinn will have unpacked and be lying in our bed with an apology on her lips. But I know that’s not how life works. That’s not how Quinn works.

He nudges me, “Hey. You know my home is your home if you ever need it.”

“Or you could just move into the loft” I counter.

“Please. And give up these 558 square feet? Never!”

After taking a sip of wine, he asks, “So what happens to the loft if this stays its course? Do you know?”

I sip on my own glass for a moment, “We have a savings account set up for the loft. In case anything happened, job wise and what not. There’s enough to get through the end of the lease. It’s only 3 months out anyway.”

He’s quiet for a moment before pressing, “You don’t think she’d… ya know?”

It takes me a second to follow his question, and even less to answer him, “No. Quinn would never leave me high and dry like that. She may have surprised me here, but, no. She’s not that kind of person. Even on her worst days.”

He settles back against the headboard, “Ok. Good.”

I move the bowl of chips and dip to the nightstand and curl into him, hugging him to me, “Kurt…”

“Hmmm…”

“Thank you for being you. I don’t know what I would have done today without you.”

He hugs me back and kisses the crown of my head, “What are girlfriends for, right?”

I laugh and he starts to back pedal, “I mean… shit. You know what…”

“Yes, I know what you mean. You’re a great girlfriend, Kurt.”

We settle back against the pillows and it isn’t long before I’m stuck in a perpetual yawn. I close my eyes and the last thing I think of before falling asleep are the windows of the loft. Just the way I saw them pulling away.  

+     +     +     +     +

When my groggy mind begins to wake, the first thing I feel is the warmth of the sun streaming in the window. I burry my face further in the pillow, groaning, unwilling to open my eyes just yet. I reach out to my right, expecting my hand to land on a sleeping body beside me. When my fingers splay across an empty spot, the events of yesterday flair up like a flame and I retract my hand, afraid of the burn.

What surprises me is that I don’t feel like crying. Instead I just feel empty.

I flip over on my back and just watch the glints of light from the cars below shoot across the ceiling. I wait for the emotions to hit. Anger, sadness, hurt. Hell, knowing my immediate reaction most times is to get even; I’m surprised I don’t even feel vindictive. Not that I could ever really do anything to Quinn. I’m not programmed that way with her.

An hour passes before I finally drag myself out of bed. At the foot of the bed rests my clothes from yesterday, folded with precision and adorned with a note.

_Clean clothes. Fresh coffee read to brew in the kitchen. A new day. I’ll see you at the shop later. – Kurt_

I was all warm and fuzzy until the reminder of work; which leads to the sharp pain I had been waiting for all morning to hit. I’ll have to go home to grab my uniform. Whether I’m ready to or not, I’ll have to face the loft today, with or without Quinn.

Once I’m dressed, I brew a small cup of coffee and walk out onto the tiny balcony. I reach for the fold-out chair Kurt leaves out there and take a seat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I take a look at it for the first time this morning. I scroll through my messages and missed calls. Still, there’s nothing from Quinn.

My thumb starts working and before I really know what I’m doing, I’m staring at a message screen with Quinn’s name at the top. The last message taunts me. I sent it to her at 5:48 yesterday morning: **_I didn’t want to wake you. I know you got in late. I have an audition this morning and the line is insane. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you._**

My fingers hover over the screen, searching out the right words to say. The blinking icon dares me to fill the space with pleading and questions of why. Instead, I shake my head and back out of the message before I do anything stupid. Quinn has made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me.

It’s a little after ten and I need to be at the coffee shop around three for my shift. I run lines in my head like an audition. What am I going to say to her if I see her? What will I do if she’s gone? A little mental preparation never hurt. And in this case, I’m not walking into and uncomfortable audition, I’m walking into what’s left of my relationship. I need all the help I can get.

+     +     +     +     +

When I pull into the parking lot, my first thought is to seek out her car. It doesn’t take long, we have joint parking. When I put the car in park, I glance over at the white Prius stationed beside me. I close my eyes and drop my head against the headrest.

_Deep breaths, Santana. You can do this._

Each inhale is followed by a shaky exhale. I work to steady myself. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly and then relax. I sit in the car about five minutes, repeating to myself that I am strong enough to face this; that no matter what happens I will be okay…eventually.

I force myself out of the car and make my way into the building. When I step in the elevator, I secure the gate, hit the number 5 button and take my usual position against the back wall. As soon as it jolts, I can hear the gears groaning and my hands grip the rail. When I do, I hear a tiny _clink_ sound inside the space. I glance down, looking around to find anything that could have been responsible for the sound and come up empty handed. Another jerk from the rickety lift and I grip the rail tighter. That’s when I hear it again. I move to continue my search and find that it’s my ring tapping against the exposed metal of the rail that is causing the unfamiliar sound.

Bringing my hands up, I spin the small platinum band around my finger. Should I take this off before I go in? What’s the customary time frame to wear it afterward? Should I even? Do I want to have a daily reminder that she left me? Or will it bring me comfort in knowing what we had, it was good. I decide to keep it on. Convincing myself it’s more out of fear of losing it than needing it there to anchor my emotions.

When my short ride ends, I step out into the hallway and notice the bundle of boxes is gone. This knowledge only serves to add to the ever growing ache in the pit of my chest. If they’re gone, that means more of my life with Quinn has been packed away. When I finally arrive at our door, I just stare at the brushed metal numbers that rest in the center of the door: 1503

_She’s practically bouncing in front of me; her now short, blonde hair bobbing against her shoulders. There’s a light click and she pushes forward. The large, waxed oak door wings open, revealing a vast space. She takes a step inside and I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her back to me._

_“San! What are you—”_

_I wrap an arm around her back, and one under her legs, sending her into a fit of giggles as I lift her._

_She wraps her arms around my neck while I steady us, and then I take a large step over the threshold, “Gotta do this right!”_

_“You’re such a sap! You hopeless romantic” she laughs, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”_

_I release my hold just a little, “I would hate to drop you…”_

_Her jaw drops, “You would never.”_

_Leaning in, I whisper, “Never” and take her lips against mine in a soft kiss._

_She reaches around and I turn us to see what she’s doing. I watch her finger trace the numbers that protrude from the door: 1503_

_She speaks softly, “Our new home.”_

_Watching her, hearing her speak those words, our new home_ , _I feel every part of me ignite. I love this woman. I want to make a life with her. I want to spend every day of the rest of our lives reminding her that she is my everything._

_She smiles at me and laughs “Think we’ll have any heater issues?”_

_“You packed your running shoes, right?”_

_She nods, “Of course.”_

_“Well” I reply, “If we do, I know how to fix it.”_

_Quinn chuckles as she hops down and takes off, twirling around the huge, vacant space, “Come on! We’ve got a lot of christening to do before the movers get here!”_

With my hand on the door handle, I twist and find it unlocked. My back stiffens and my chin lifts before I press forward. The scene is much the same as it was yesterday, just more boxes have appeared. Most of them sit neatly stacked against the far wall, taped and ready to go. The smell of coffee fills the room and I’m thankful for the little feeling of comfort the aroma brings to the place.

The door echoes behind me when it latches. I drop my keys and bag down on the entry table, feeling a sense of déjà vu. I listen for any sign of Quinn; no sound finds me but the cars from the freeway filtering in through the open windows. I move gingerly, working my way into the living room. At a glance I can see the kitchen is empty, as is the dining area. Turning, I make my way down the hallway to the bedroom. When I cross through the French doors, I’m again met with an empty space. The neatly folded clothes are gone. The books that sat on her side of the bed have vanished. The only remaining box is the one by the bathroom; the one with the pink and white tooth brush.

The only thing that doesn’t look like it’s been touched by Quinn’s pristine hands is our bed. The plush white comforter is rumpled, and bunched. The sheets are wrinkled, a corner pulling up from the bottom of the mattress. The pillows that line the top of the bed are thrown around, missing their usual uniform pattern. The colorful throw pillows lay in a heap under the large window. Quinn would always get on to me for tossing them on the floor. Her way was to take them off and place them in the chest at the foot of our bed every night. It seemed like just a waste of time to me. I don’t know if she didn’t care last night or if the chest was full of her shoes or something. The chest is hers after all, why wouldn’t she take it.

I bought it for her at an estate sale last year. She thought it was the most amazing thing. A time traveler is what she called it. With all its old travel stickers and stamps plastered inside, but an elegant keep of the leather outside. She fell in love with it when she noticed it still had the last travel tag on it from the owner. Its final journey was in 1937.  It had traveled back to Los Angeles from Paris. For a month after we bought it, Quinn would lay in bed beside me each night weaving these elaborate stories about the owner and her adventures in the world based on the stamps and stickers inside.

My attention falls back on the bed, mainly on the pillow that lies vertically in the middle of the bed; my pillow. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Quinn was holding my pillow when she slept; if she slept. It doesn’t look like much rest was had in that bed last night. As much as I would love to be spiteful and say I was glad she didn’t sleep, I’d be lying. The thought of Quinn lying there, emotional, restless and alone makes my heart ache so fiercely that I reach up and rub the top of my chest, hoping to relieve some of the hurt.

I take a deep, cleansing breath and turn, headed back out to the living room. I stop in the middle of the large area, and take a 360˚ look. The only places closed off in the loft are our bedroom and the bathroom. Yet, I don’t see Quinn anywhere. I want to call out, but each time I have her name on my lips, it dies there. The quiet is deafening to me. It’s a crushing reminder that this is soon to be my every day.

I hear something from the far end of the loft, near Quinn’s work space. As I draw nearer, I realize that one of the open windows is the one that leads out to the balcony on the fire escape. I stop, just short of the window and ask myself, “Do I want to talk to her? Or should I just get my uniform and go?”

It’s not a question that takes long to answer. Within seconds, I find myself crawling through the window. The air is reasonably cool given it’s one in the afternoon. There is a breeze that whips around, pulling loose strands from my ponytail. The sun is blocked just enough, that our little side of the building is coated in shade. To my right is the stairwell, leading down the escape. To my left is the hammock that we strung up last summer between the railing and the wall. It sways back and forth, propelled by the bare foot that pushes against the grate beneath it.

Her toned leg falls from the net and rocks her back and forth. She’s lying, facing out toward the row of palm trees that line our block. A hand rests on her stomach, while the other is secured behind her head. She’s dressed in a pair of blue running shorts and an old gray t-shirt; her hair in a loose ponytail. Any other time I would crawl in beside her, curl around her and we’d talk about each other’s day until we fell asleep, blanketed the afternoon shade; but not today.

Her voice filters across the breeze, “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come home at all.”

I scoff, leaning backward to take a seat on one of the stairs, “Yeah, well, it doesn’t really feel like a home, so.”

“I deserve that.”

I bend forward and rest my arms on my knees, wringing my hands quietly, “I half expected to come back and find you gone.”

“That was the plan.”

Her voice trails, but she never moves from her spot, still just rocking back and forth. She seems so calm. I envy her right now. I’m dying inside. I feel like everything is crumbling and there is not a single thing I can do to stop it. But I’m not going to let her see me that way.

“So what stopped you?”

“You” she replies evenly. “Well, more like the absence of you.”

This gets my attention, but I don’t want to jump the gun and assume anything. So I sit, unmoving and quiet, hoping my silence will prompt her to continue.

“Coming to this decision was a lot easier when I just shut you out.”

She moves to sit up and adjusts, using the hammock as more of a chair. Still, her toe pushes against the grate and she sways back and forth. Only this time, she watches me as I watch her. Our eyes meet briefly before she reaches to brush away loose tendrils of hair that frame her face.

I can’t deny the sting that pierces me when she says she can just ‘shut me out’.

Shaking my head, trying to understand, I ask, “What does that even mean, Quinn?”

“When I let myself miss you last night, when it hit me that this was a glimpse of what’s to come, all of my resolve disappeared. I didn’t know that I was doing. It was 4:30 in the morning and I was in a ball on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.”

I snap before I can think, “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you because you realized at 4:30 in the morning that you might actually love me?” When I realize how harsh that came out, I take a breath and continue, “Look… Quinn, I’m still at a loss as to why you would want to shut me out in the first place.”

“I need a change, Santana. I am not happy here anymore. And in order for me to clear my head, I need to get away. I thought I could do this, but fuck. I have never needed someone’s presence in my life like I need yours. So I came to a cross road. And I had to make a decision. If I was going to leave, I needed to put you away. I needed to separate you from the choice I needed to make. I couldn’t allow myself to think about missing you. About how badly I would hurt once I left. How badly I would hurt you. About how fucked up of a person I am that I am willing to hurt you, so I can get away.”

She reaches up and swipes at her eye, preventing a tear from forming.

“I love you. I do. I love you so much, San. But it’s like, I don’t know, I can’t make a decision for myself anymore. So I figured, if I shut you out, I could make this decision and stick to it. I know; I’m an absolutely terrible human being for that.”

She stares at me, silently asking me to, what? Say something? Fine, I’ll say something.

“That is the most fucked up, selfish thing I have ever heard come out of you, Quinn.”

“I know” she whispers.

“You know, I think I would have rather had you lie to me, say you hated me and you couldn’t stand me. But instead I get, ‘I love you so much that I was willing to hurt you’? Really?”

Her hands clench against her lap and she yells in frustration, “I don’t know what to do! I didn’t know how to… I was just trying to find a way out of this feeling. I hate it here. It was fun for a while, but then, I don’t know, I just want to go back to New York. I want that life back. I’m not cut out for California.”

“Then why didn’t you just fucking tell me that!” I’m on my feet now, fits balled at my sides, yelling at her. “Come to me and tell me these things before you ‘don’t know’ Quinn! Jesus Christ, Q, that’s what girlfriends do. People in relationships tell each other things. They let the other know when they’re not happy. They don’t sit around plotting how to shut the other one out so they can run away. Fuck!”

Quinn falls quiet, reaching for the coral mug and taking a sip of her afternoon coffee. When she finishes and still sits without a word, I lose my patience. Turning, I lean down to climb back through the window. I’m not going to sit here and listen to her tell me she loves me while in the same breath tell me that I’m disposable if she tries hard enough.

Her voice falls around me and stops my motion, “I own you an apology, Santana.”

Still crouched, I face into the loft and mumble, “You think?”

“I haven’t been the girlfriend you deserve. You’re so much better than I am, in so many ways. I’ve failed you. And I’m sorry.”

My body slumps as I listen to her describe herself in a light that I have never once seen her in. I knew the moment I allowed myself to fall for Quinn Fabray, I knew what I was getting. I knew that we would butt heads. I knew that she would require more than the simplicity of just being with someone. She needs structure, a promise of stability. I know that she can do anything she sets her mind to. She’s brilliant. But I also know that if she doesn’t really want to do something, she will never fully invest herself.

I suppose looking back, there were signs. I should have known she was unhappy. But I was under the impression that we would tell each other if we were unhappy.

“You’re right.” I turn on my feet and face her again, “I deserve a girlfriend who talks to me. I deserve a girlfriend who values me enough to tell me when something is wrong.”

I push up and walk back towards her. When I stop, I can feel her calf brushing against my leg. She looks up at me as I stand over her.

“I have never had an expectation for you, Quinn. Ever. I love you. And you said you loved me too. That’s enough. That was always enough for me. I love everything about you. And yes, you drive me absolutely crazy sometimes. Sometimes, I just want to snap my fingers and have that stick up your ass disappear. But no matter how mad I get, how upset I am about some situation, I have never once considered shutting you out so I could figure something out. There has never been a time that I don’t come to you with something bothering me. Why couldn’t you respect me enough… love me enough, to do the same?”

She licks her lips, wiping way the new tears that have fallen from her eyes, “I’m sorry” she chokes out.

A hand reaches out and gently touches mine. Her eyes seek out an approval. I can see the recoil ready to happen should I pull away.

Always planning, that’s Quinn.  

When I don’t pull away, she speaks. “I don’t know how to make this right. And I don’t know how to undo the damage I did to your trust in me. But I want to. I want to fix this.”

I stand there, inhaling slowly. Calming my heart and rendering a warning to myself. I need to be cautious. I don’t want to crumble at her feet and take her back without question. She’s right; I have had my trust in her shaken. She blindsided me. How can I ever be sure this won’t happen again? How can I move past this without feeling like we’ll never be on equal ground? I trusted her to talk to me, I trusted her to have enough faith in our relationship that we could approach any situation, big or small, as a single unit.

While I seek out the right words to say, she continues, “I’m still moving back home.”

She pushes up and stands, her body so close to mine, “But I want you there; with me.”

My hands itch to reach out and pull her to me, but there is a damaged part of me that keeps my hands still.

“Quinn, I—”

“Look, I know I have no right to ask this of you. I know that I am responsible for whatever decision you make. I can’t express how much I messed up. I tried to convince myself that I could do this. But I was only kidding myself. I need to touch you every day. I need to hear you. I need to feel you beside me, around me, in me. I need you to love me. And I swear to you, Santana, I swear, I will be better for you. I will be the best for you. I will talk to you. I will show you how valued you are. I will love you the way I promised you I would.”

She pauses, and it’s her hands that cup my face, “I got lost. I forgot my promise to you; my promise to love you unlike you’ve ever been loved before. But I’m not lost anymore. And I’ll keep saying it, I am so sorry that it took this happening for me to realize I will never love anyone the way I love you. And there is no one who will love me the way you have. I will spend every day for the rest of our lives apologizing for being so stupid.”  

I want to fall into her, I want to wrap myself around her and never let go. Yesterday, last night, had she said these things to me, the end result would be getting lost in each other and not looking back. But sometime between my leaving the loft yesterday and coming back today, I have built a wall. I used to work though being hurt pretty quickly. And when it was Quinn, my hurt never lasted past a kiss and an apology. But this is one burn that still sits on my skin, red and tender. I don’t care if we move to China, as long as we are together, I would be okay. That has been my stance, until now.

Now I fear I’ll never be enough for her. I’ll always fall short of what she needs. If she can’t even talk to me, how can I expect us to work together? The stupid thing about all of this; had she come to me and said, “I need to get out of here. I want to move home.” I would have packed us up and moved us then and there. Had she just talked to me, that’s it.

I purse my lips and reach for her hands, pulling them down, “Quinn. I… I love you. I will always love you.”

Her bottom lip trembles and a fresh wave of tears pools in her hazel eyes. Her nose flairs when she takes a deep breath, anticipating my next words.

“But… I think you need to go, alone.”

This breaks her. A sob escapes and she wraps her arms around herself. Her eyes dart, seemingly unable to focus on one thing, and soon the sobs over take over. She stands in front of me, shaking. This is how I felt last night. And all I wanted was for her to hold me. So I reach out and pull her to me. Her hands grip tightly at my back. My shirt bunches in her hands and she cries over and over, “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I let myself cry with her, finally allowing myself to feel the weight of the decisions we’ve both made over the course of the last 48 hours. We stand there until the sobs subside and she sniffles against my neck.

Running my hands across her back, I whisper against her hair, “I love you more than I knew I could love someone. And that will never change. But I need you to be sure you want me there. I need you to step out on your own and decide if a life with me is what you want. Because I told you last night, I will not follow someone who doesn’t want me there. I think we both need to take some time.”

She shakes her head no, but I just hold her tighter, “Quinn. Listen to me.”

Releasing her, I hold her at an arm’s length, making sure she sees me and I see her, “Maybe we need this. Okay. And right now, maybe this is the best thing. I want you to go to New York. I want you to think about what you need from me, from us.”

A look of panic crosses her features, “But, you…”

“Don’t…” I pause, “I have the loft for another three months.”

It takes her a few seconds to catch on to what I’m saying.

“You’re proposing a time frame” she trails.

I nod, “Yes. Three months for you and I to think things through; on our own. And at the end of the three months…”

Her lips purse and she nods, “We decide.”

It feels almost wrong, setting up the fate of our relationship as if it were a cold business transaction. But I can’t honestly stand here and say that all is forgiven. And if we plan to make this work, we both have some demons we need to work out.

I close the gap between us and plant my lips on hers. I taste the salt from the tears, mixed with the subtle flavor of coffee. Neither takes the kiss deeper. Right now we just need to feel each other.

When we pull away, she whispers, “Where do we do from here?”

A sigh comes from between my lips, “I go to work and you pack.”

She laughs, small, but it’s there, “You know what I mean.”

“You’re going to New York. I’m going to stay here. We have skype, texts, and calls. When you want to talk to me, you’re going to call me. No matter what time it is, you’re going to pick up the phone and call me. And I am going to do the same. I’m going think about you every second of every day. We’re both going to cry. We’re both going to hurt. And when that starts to go away, we’re both going to move past it. We’re going to give ourselves these three months. Okay?”

Nodding, she replies, “Okay.”

I leave her on the balcony, retrieve my uniform and leave the loft, swallowing back the sobs that threaten to shatter me.

I’m doing this for her. I’m letting her go. I can only hope that when the time comes, I still have a place in her life. And if, at the end of three months, she decides that I don’t fit in her world anymore, I’ll pack it away, and move on. However I can.

This is either the best decision of my life, or the worst.

Only time will tell.

+     +     +     +     +    

**Two Months Later**

Rolling over into my pillow, my hand reaches out, slamming blindly against the hard surface; seeking out the annoyance that buzzes non-stop on my nightstand. When I finally feel the cool metal under my fingertips, I slap my palm down on top of it until the buzzing stops.

When the quiet settles back in around me, I splay out in the middle of the bed and sigh as I fall back asleep. Not a minute later, the buzzing starts back up.

I lift up and groan into the silent space, ripping the phone off its charging chord and sliding the screen without missing a beat, “What the fuck, Kurt!”

A soft giggle drifts through the line and my eyes open, very aware of who that laugh belongs to.

“Is this a new thing? 3:30am phone calls between you and Hummel?”

I sigh contentedly, allowing the euphoric wave to wash over me, “He took a job as a night guard at a studio downtown. He gets bored.”   

Her laughter grows, “Wait? Kurt is a security guard? I’m sorry, I just…”

“Yeah,” I chuckle, “He’s a rent-a-cop at some studio they shoot Barney at or something.”

I let myself listen to her laugh, imagining the smile that sits on her lips. God I miss those lips.

We talk a few times a week lately. It was only once or twice the first few weeks. I think we were both still licking our wounds. It’s been nice, ya know: kind of getting to know one another again in a different way.

“Q, its 3:30, are you okay? Why are you calling so late?”

“It’s already 6:30 in New York. It’s time for work” she says playfully.

“But you’re okay” I press.

“I’m Fine. I just wanted to call and tell you something.”

I sprawl out on my back, holding the receiver against my ear while I stretch, “Oh yeah” I say with a yawn. “What’s up?”

The line clicks twice and I don’t hear anything, “Quinn? You there?”

Still, there’s nothing. So I ask again, “Quinn. Hello…”

Pulling the phone back, I see the call has ended, “Dammit.”

“I don’t need three months.”

I jump, the voice coming from only feet away from me. My eyes fly to the French doors and I blink rapidly, not believing what I’m seeing.

Quinn stands between the doors, her phone resting in her hand. Her purse hangs off her shoulder and her hair flowing down around her shoulders in loose curls. She’s illuminated by the street light that shines brightly in the window behind me.

“I don’t need three months. I want you to come home. I need you to come home. To me.”

She walks slowly toward the bed. Her hand reaches out and places her phone atop the dresser. Next, her purse falls from her arm and the chain strap pools against the hardwood floor with a steady clinging sound.

She stops at the foot of the bed, reaches up and removes her jacket. I watch it fall behind her and out of sight. She toes off her shoes and crawls on the bed. I swallow hard, still not believing that I’m actually awake; that this isn’t just a dream. I have had several similar ones in the last two months.

“I need you, Santana. I love you, and I need you.”

She stops over my legs, rearing back off her hands and resting up on her knees, “The only question there is left to answer is; will you have me?”

My eyes catch a flash of light and I see that she still wears her ring. I can feel the cool metal of mine against my skin and I smile. I lift up on my elbows, “I need a few things from you before I can answer that.”

“Anything” she whispers.

I sit up, and my hands settle on her hips. My body sighs, knowing it’s found its home again.

“I need your mind.” I lift up a bit and kiss her temple.

“I need your body.” My lips fall against her collar bone.

“I need your soul.” My hand skims down her arm until I link our fingers together.

“And, I need your heart.” I lean forward and kiss the exposed skin over her chest.

“Those are my terms. Do you think you can live with that?”

I see a tear stream down her cheek when she laughs, “You have me. You have all of me. Forever.”

When our lips meet, my world explodes and I know there will never be another love in my life like her.

We spend the rest of the night wrapped around each other; making new promises. Whispering new ‘I love you's’. We rediscover each other, breathing new life into the passion we once had. It’s stronger now. We hold each other tighter, we linger just a bit longer with our kisses.

When I wake again, this time it’s the afternoon sun that pulls me from my sleep. I’m so afraid it was all a dream. It’s almost paralyzing. I take a deep breath and roll over.

Empty

Before I can get lost in my fears, Quinn walks through the doors and smiles down at me, “Nice of you to join the world.”

She saunters toward the bed and I take a moment to appreciate her. The only thing she wears is the AC/DC t-shirt that I had been sleeping in before her arrival. Her hair is all over, ruffled and bunched in different places. Her face is void of any makeup and her neck is dotted with remnants of last night. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. Just like this. Perfect.

When she settles in beside me, I lift my head and lay it across her lap. Her fingers weave their way through my hair and we sit together in silence.

I turn my head and glance up at her, “This is real, right?”

She watches me, her eyes dancing across my features, “There is nothing more real.”

“Did you mean it last night?” She asks, “Will you come home with me?”

I turn away from her and nuzzle against her thighs, planting a kiss on her warm skin, “Yes…” I reply calmly.

“But, I’m already home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read the work. I appreciate my readers deeply.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: burlesonspride 
> 
> Much love to all,  
> M


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